


Family tree

by Loveneko58



Category: Forgotten Realms
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Other, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-01-31
Packaged: 2021-02-25 16:41:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22499248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loveneko58/pseuds/Loveneko58
Summary: Malice had an older brother named Scorto Do'urden he disappeared over 200 years ago, but he suddenly is back home, how will the family react to seeing a completely different side to Malice then they ever have before? The story of a pair of drow siblings and there love for one another
Kudos: 4





	Family tree

“Hey!” a youthful voice beamed from behind. “You forgot to find me! Where have you been?” A premature and adorably small Scorto wobbled up to his sister. He was a mere sixteen years of age while Malice, at the age of eleven, already seemed too big for him. Her body was built much stronger than his; however, Scorto was smarter, and knew how to use the world around him to overcome his obstacles. As if it were a game, he knew that as long as he was one step ahead, he would be alright.

Malice stood with her back to Scorto, hearing his footsteps grow louder as he got closer. “I’m sorry, dear brother,” her voice was quiet, yet soothing; an unalarming tone that she often used with Scorto. “I’m afraid I got a bit carried away.” 

A nearby fencepost sat alone; its carving on the side making it seem like a face that was staring at Scorto. It made him feel uneasy as he approached Malice. “Carried away?” he asked. “By what? There’s little here to be distracted by.”

Malice let a small giggle escape her unseen lips. And with an action swifter than the wind, she turned around, grabbing Scorto’s arm, and pinning him down.

He lay there, shocked and dumbfounded, staring into her sister’s red-orange eyes that stared back at him. Then, in another sudden motion, she began to laugh.

“I’ve got you! I’ve finally got you!” she said, her eyes sparking wonder and pride. She began to laugh even harder as she exclaimed, “You should have seen the look on your priceless face!” 

Scorto, although confused, started to laugh along with her. He found no humor in what had happened; rather, he felt quite embarrassed. However, he found his sister’s laugh to be quite contagious, and couldn’t help but feel her joy. 

“That was quite clever of you,” Scorto said with another giggle. “However, you haven’t taken a certain something into account!” 

Malice looked confused. “What? What’s tha-” 

She was interrupted by a playful scream escaping her lips. Scorto, who used her confusion against her, took the opportunity to pull himself out of Malice’s grasp using the same fencepost he had seen earlier, and he quickly flipped to where he was now pinning her down.

Although Malice’s short-lived victory had been taken from her, she still laughed. And once more, Scorto laughed with her. This time, however, he did it out of his own pure happiness; not just a contagious reaction. 

Once they finished playing their little game, Scorto laid down beside her, and they held hands in a way that shouted family love. They looked up at the dirt roof they had for a sky. Although they were deprived of a clear blue sky, clouds, or a beautiful sunset, they cared little. For in that moment, all that mattered to either of them was the warmth and comfort of having each other so close. 

There was silence present, but it was welcome. They both enjoyed each other’s company, whether it was loud or silent. They didn’t need to communicate through words to get their love across from each other. 

“Scorto! Malice!” a voice called from their home in the distance. “Dinner is ready; be here before the supper gets cold!” 

Knowing that it was best to obey their mother, the two smiled at each other once more, before racing each other to the home, giggling all the way.

~~~Present Day~~~

“Scorto!” 

Scorto opened his eyes to see his right-hand man Barrar standing in front of him. Barrar was stronger and had a much better build than Scorto, but because Scorto had better strategy skills and intelligence, he was able to lead. 

Although he felt groggy, Scorto forced himself to stand, ignoring the light dizzy feeling he had; his body was punishing him for the lack of sleep he had gotten. “What do you need, Barrar?” he asked with a tinge of exhaustion in his voice. 

Barrar looked at him with a bit of concern. “Scorto, you really need to get more rest,” he warily said. “You need to take better care of yourself to-”

“I’m fine,” Scorto interrupted with a deadpanned nod. “Now, is there anything you need?”

Barrar opened his mouth to protest further, but closed it quickly after. He wanted Scorto to be okay, but he knew it was best not to start an argument. Scorto always put other priorities over his own physical health, and it would take a lot more than a few petty arguments to change that. Instead, he decided to continue on with his original purpose.

“Savin and Nym wanted to know the plan for the next week. We’re running low on food and water… we can’t continue on like this forever.” 

Scorto contemplated this, pacing the small tent he slept in, feeling the rough dirt floor on his bare feet with every step. The texture of the dirt and the small rocks jabbed at his feet, making him wince every now and then, but he ignored the pain, growing more and more resistant to it with every step. “I want to continue pushing for at least another month. Then, after that, we can start heading back to the underground.” 

A small look of defeat hit Barrar’s face. He hid it quickly, but it was too late; Scorto had already noticed. 

“Barrar,” said Scorto, looking at him with a respectful and careful tone. “I know we’re tired, but I’m sure we can find a good raid spot soon.” His eyes grew a bit more serious, as he avoided eye contact with Barrar. “I don’t want to go home empty handed. I want to at least push for one more month.” 

Although he was hesitant, Barrar nodded. “I will let them know of your plan.” he said quietly. He walked to the tent door, and with his back still turned away from Scorto, he said, “Just… please remember to take care of yourself. We look up to you. We can’t have you getting weaker on us now.” 

Before Scorto could respond, Barrar left the tent, leaving him to think about what he said. Scorto sighed, walking back to his bed of hay. Although he would have never admitted it to his colleagues, he felt awful. Averaging 3-4 hours of sleep a night to keep watch so that his friends wouldn’t have to… it was wearing him down. He was beginning to notice when he wobbled during each step, balance becoming harder for him to obtain, and when he would get extreme dizzy spells when running. He knew he couldn’t do this much longer.

“Fine,” he whispered to himself. “I’ll close my eyes, but only for a second. I suppose I do deserve a small moment of rest…” He closed his eyes, allowing his slumber to take over.

The dream of him and Malice continued, and he found it peaceful. He enjoyed his moments of rest, feeling as though he was too busy to really get that anymore. He was thankful to hang on to these dreams… they felt like gifts from above, feeling so real, as if he was with Malice again. He missed her so much, and couldn’t wait to be able to return to her. 

~~~~

“Scorto!” said young Malice, her hair flowing as she whipped around to face her brother. He looked into her beautiful bright red eyes as they twinkled brightly in the dimly lit underground city. She gave him a youthful smile, grabbing his hand and tugging on it to force his legs to move faster. “You need to move faster,” she instructed, “I’m starving!”

A giggle escaped Scorto’s lips, running alongside Malice, daring each other to a race. “Last one there has to drink all of Mother’s larvae mint tea!” exclaimed Malice, earning a gag from Scorto. Although larvae mint tea was considered a delicacy in the underworld, both Malice and Scorto found it to be rather disgusting. However, this only made their race more enticing. 

Malice’s legs were much faster than Scorto’s; her legs were able to carry her much farther than his ever could. A frown appeared on his face as he thought about the tea he was going to have to drink later that day. Malice turned around, giving him a wink, then sticking her tongue out playfully to further brag of her guaranteed victory. 

Scorto looked a bit up ahead of Malice, trying to ignore her taunts, when he saw a tree root sticking out of the ground. If Malice wasn’t careful, she would trip on it, which would badly hurt considering the speed she was going. Scorto’s eyes widened in fear as he reached his hand out.

“Malic-” 

Before Scorto could finish what he was saying, it was already too late. The tree limb had seized Malice’s foot, keeping her from stabling her balance. Her eyes widened in shock as her body flung forward, hitting the ground hard. 

Scorto forgot about their bet, running up to Malice. “Are you alright?” he asked fearfully, checking her to make sure she had no badly damaged limbs, cuts, or bruises. 

Malice looked at him with a sad, painful look, then did what Scorto would have never expected. She opened her mouth widely, and let out a heart-wrenching scream that could have been heard for miles.

~~~

Scorto’s eyes fluttered open with shock, thinking about the odd dream he just had. He allowed himself a moment to catch his breathing, and readjusted his position to hopefully fall back asleep.

He was about to close his eyes when he heard a second scream.

He shot up so quickly that he felt dizzy. He forced himself to ignore it, however, as the screaming grew more intense. His heart dropped at the source: Barrar. It wasn’t a dream… someone’s really hurt! he thought. He tried to process what to do in his brain, strategizing for a plan as fast as he could. His friends could be in danger, after all. He needed to be careful, but he also needed to be quick. 

It took him a moment, but he decided on what to do. Slowly and carefully peering out of the tent door, he observed his surroundings to see what he needed to do next. 

He spotted Barrar, who wielded an incredibly sharp iron sword. He swung it at something that was out of Scorto’s line of sight. Scorto could, however, see the fear and desperation on Barrar’s face. His eyes darting as if he was trying to find a way out. His face sweating profusely, as if he had been fighting for awhile. Scorto analyzed this and took note of it quickly before looking for whatever else he could see.

Savin and Nym were fighting side by side, as they usually would. Their bulk figures shadowed in the sunlight. Savin was taller and faster than Nym, but Nym was stronger. However, as a team, they were unstoppable. Scorto admired them and their teamwork skills and the physical skills they have that go hand in hand with each other. 

Nym went out of sight for a short moment, grunting as Scorto heard a groan from another being he could not see. Then, Nym threw an elf creature with brown skin and black hair. For a small moment, it almost seemed to Scorto that this creature was another Drow, just with different skin and hair. However, he dismissed the thought and focused on the task at hand. 

Grabbing his knife that he kept under his bed of hay, he stepped out of his tent, immediately running to the shadows. He worked best when he could sneak up on his opponent, and knew it would be best if he went with this strategy. Once he reached the woods, he ducked behind a large bush and looked to see what he could find. 

To his left he saw five of these drow-like elves coming towards the camp. To his right, he saw two of them attacking Nym and Savin, and one attacking Barrar. He knew he had to play it smart. If anything happened to them, he would be responsible. He quietly climbed a nearby tree, approaching his opponents from the sky.

An elf similar in stature was approaching the tree with caution. He was looking in every direction except the one that mattered: above. Scorto double checked to make sure no one was looking, scanning the other elves’ eyes to see if they are in the same direction. When he saw that he was open, he took the opportunity. 

He gripped the tree branch tightly. It wobbled a bit, but he adjusted to its weight. With all the force he could muster, he jumped off the branch, swinging around to kick the elf. His foot slammed into the elf’s face faster than the elf could react. The momentum from the kick came so hard that he dropped to the ground, leaving Scorto unsure if he were still alive or not, but he didn’t have time to check for himself.

Running under some logs they had for a campfire, Scorto took a moment to re-examine his surroundings for his next move. He peaked up, seeing two bigger elves standing guard, and another scrawny elf trying to sneak up behind Barrar. 

He panicked for a moment, not wanting his friend to get hurt. He took a moment to decide what he wanted to do, and settled on whistling.

The whistle was loud and clear. However, it got the attention of one too many people. Everyone turned around and looked at Scorto.

“Oh, dear…” he trailed, looking a bit worried but trying his best to hide it. “That’s certainly not what I was expecting.”

Scorto smiled in a cocky manner as the bulker elf ran up to attack. He ducked under the first elf, kicking the second one in the groin. The elf groaned in pain, stumbling backwards a bit, allowing Scorto the opportunity to punch him in the face. However, when he went to swing, the other bulk elf had grabbed his arm. 

Although he squirmed and kicked, Scorto was built too small for the bigger elf. “Don’t even try,” he said, “It’s already too late.”

The elf forced Scorto to turn around to see the horrors from behind. His teammates were all mercilessly pinned down; a knife already plunged into the heart of Nym, while Barrar and Savin watched helplessly. 

Through gritted teeth, the elf said, “Watch them die, boy. And always remember it was your fault.”

Although he screamed and fought, the elves still held onto him as he watched his friends die in front of him, one by one. And although he knew he wasn’t the one who killed them, he couldn’t help but only blame himself.  
~~~ 

When Scorto battled and lost against the surface elves,, he thought he was going to die that day. He didn’t want it, he wanted to go back home. He wanted to be with his sister again, running around and playing silly games just as they had as children. 

Two hundred years later, however, he wondered if it would have been better if he would have died anyway. 

The surface elves were cruel, and forced Scorto through unimaginable pain and suffering every single day. He prayed for a simple five minutes to where he wasn’t being abused or screamed at by one of them, but those moments were rare. Even when he slept, he had to deal with the paranoia that someone would wake him up at an absurd time to whip him, cut him, or kick him while he lay there.

He tried multiple times to escape, planning for months every time. No matter what, though, he always failed. The surface elves were always there, waiting for him, as if they knew what he was doing all along. When they found him, they would pin him to the floor, kicking and punching him until he was near death. However, they never went past that. They all knew the real torture was letting him wake up in the morning, in the same awful jammed cell that he couldn’t even stretch his legs out all the way in. It was cold and murky and lacked any sunlight, but that environment was something Scorto was used to, as he lived underground for all his life. The only light he received was from the occasional lanturn taken by a surface elf when Scorto was about to get abused.He learned from it like a child obeys a dinner bell. When he saw that light, he cowered in fear, pushing himself back to the corner of his small cell. It never helped anything, but it was the only thing he could do. 

His mind was wavering. It was almost as if he could no longer think. The only things he could process anymore was “Water… Food… No, please….” He felt like he was going crazy, being kept in painful solitude. The only thing keeping him sane was his sister. “Malice… help me!” he would sometimes cry while the surface elves abused him. “Crying for your mommy, are we?” one hissed, punching his throat. “Let’s see you try now!” 

He found it hopeless to fight back for a long time. 

Scorto sat in the corner of his small cage, watching the wall with a deadpan look. An outsider that did not know of him would think that he was dead; However, his pulse told a different story.

A light flashed on the wall, making Scorto’s lifeless body jump with agony. He knew what was coming, and he wanted to get out. As the light got closer, his breathing got heavier and heavier, and the walls felt as though they were going to close in on him. He began to cry, searching desperately for a way out. Not again, he begged, but no words came out. Please, please, please… Not again… I’ll do anything! 

No matter how much he begged, however, the light still approached his cage, revealing three bulk surface elves. He did not recognize them; they were almost always new faces. A lot of the surface elves came in and treated Scorto as a personal toy, beating him up until they were satisfied, and then he would never see them again. 

“Already crying, are we?” snarked the biggest of the surface elves. There was a scar that covered his left eyebrow, which made him look even scarier than he would have without it. “This is going to be fun.”

The cage opened. Scorto had little energy to fight; this was his third round of people of the day. He usually only had one round, and on some rare occasions, no one would come at all, giving Scorto a day to rest. But three was an incredibly rare. Scorto felt like one more hit would kill him, but in a weird way, he felt excited for that opportunity. 

The two elves sneered at him. “He’s like a pitiful baby wanting to be held. Hah. He’s so weak!” They laughed at their cruel joke. The saying sent chills down Scorto’s spine, making him curl up into a tight ball. 

The strongest elf picked Scorto up, his hands twice as big as his, and threw Scorto against the floor. Scorto winced, but made no effort to fight back. Maybe this will be the day, he thought with a hopeful tinge. Maybe I won’t have to suffer this anymore.

The second strongest elf picked Scorto up by the hem of his torn tunic, punching him in the head several times, before throwing him to the weakest elf (though he was still significantly stronger than Scorto), who kicked him in the stomach and then roughly pushed him to the ground.

The impact his head made on the floor made him incredibly dizzy. His vision grew impaired and his body felt lighter. He felt as though the punches and kicks from the men were getting less and less painful, as if they weren’t doing them anymore. Yet, when he looked at them, they were all kicking him with all of their might, throwing him and punching him. He watched them as he felt himself get sleepier; an exhaustion he had never quite felt before. His vision became less clear, blackness surrounding his eyes, until he finally succumbed to the darkness.  
~~~

Scorto knew he should have stopped throwing the ball in the house, but he didn’t. He took the risk because, in the moment, he knew it was fun. Now, however, all he felt was fear. The plate the ball smashed into broke in slow motion. Scorto tried to run to stop it, but it knocked it right out of his mother’s hands, falling to the floor.

His mother’s voice boomed across the house. It almost felt like the base of the house began to shake by the volume held by her voice. It scared Scorto terribly. He tried to run, but his shaking legs couldn’t carry him far.

“Scorto!” his mother screamed. Scorto tried to run even faster, but fell to the ground by tripping over his clumsy feet. 

He tried crawling backwards, but to his dismay, his mother grabbed him by the shirt collar, pulling him into her grip. She was incredibly strong and was able to pick him up with one hand and hold him up to her eye level. It was tremendously intimidating. Scorto was scared out of his wits.

Scorto closed his eyes as his mother raised her hand to hit him. He begged for the punishment to end soon. Sometimes he was lucky, and his mother would only hit him once or twice. However, deep down, he knew this was not one of those times. If you broke something in the house, you were hit a countless and very painful amount of times, and were made to skip dinner. 

Tears began to swell as he thought about what was coming. He still didn’t dare look into his mother’s eyes. He was too ashamed of what he did. “I’m… sorry…” he managed to choke out, letting out a forbidden sob.

“Crying?” snarled his mother, gripping his shirt even tighter so. “I haven’t even done anything to you yet!” Her words were venomous. They struck at Scorto’s heart like snakes writhing for their food. “I’ll give you something to cry about.”

The impact was so hard that everything went white for Scorto. His ears buzzed a bit and he couldn’t process any thought. He opened his eyes, appalled at what had just happened. His mother let him drop to the floor. He shook his head, cradling it gently. 

He had a moment of relief. To his surprise, his mother didn’t do anything else to him. He thought he had time to recover. He closed his eyes again, rubbing his head, allowing a few tears to slip out of his eyes. 

Without warning, he felt another strong impact to his head. He yelped in pain, jumping away from his mother a little. She walked up to him, kicking his sitting body in the stomach. He coughed, hunching over and hugging his stomach. His new position, bringing his head near the floor, allowed his mother to kick him in the nose.

This went on a bit longer. Scorto weakly began to open up new ways for his mother to hurt him, and Scorto could do nothing but lie there and take it. Everytime he cried, his mother punched and kicked him twice as hard as before. 

Scorto learned to hide his tears. Despite wanting to cry, he knew the torture wouldn’t stop until he forced them down. It took a long time, and his face was bloody and there were bruises all over his body. But finally, the punishment stopped. 

“Go to your room,” commanded his mother. “You’re being denied any food tonight.”

He remained as strong as he could possibly be. When he closed the door to his room, however, he dropped to his knees and let out a sob. 

Malice, who sat on a nearby bed, looked at him in pity. “What happened?” she asked quietly, walking up to coddle him in an attempt to distract him from the pain he felt.

Scorto explained what happened in between sobs as Malice moved him to his bed. She felt horrible for him, knowing first-hand what it’s like to be punished by their mother. She gently hugged him when he finished telling his story as he continued to sob into her shoulder.

“It’s okay, Scorto,” she cooed softly. She lowered her voice as she continued, “I’m getting stronger than Mother! She doesn’t want to admit it, but I know she notices it sometimes. I’m slowly becoming more and more intolerant to the pain.”

“I wish… wish I was… intolerant,” said Scorto, struggling to speak in between each sob.

“I can still protect you, though,” she whispered, letting Scorto hug her. He crawled into her lap like a scared pet, wrapping his arms around her and silently resting his head on her shoulder. She smiled softly, putting her chin on his head. 

They sat in silence together for awhile. “I promise to always protect you,” Malice said to him once more. “Always.” 

~~~

Scorto’s eyes fluttered open. They felt gunky and gross from the crying he allowed himself to do the previous night. He stared at his hands sadly, remembering a time where he worked so hard to train himself not to cry.

He remembered his dream, smiling at the thought of Malice protecting him. I wonder if she’s alright now, he thought, his smile soft. I hope she is happy.

A hopeless feeling overcame him. It made him feel as if a new wave of tears was coming to torture him. He bit his lip, feeling tired of the constant sadness and pain he had been feeling for several decades. He wondered if Malice would even remember him the way he remembered her. Even if he were to make it back to her, would it matter? Would she still know his name, or would she have been better off if he had never shown up again?

He shook his head, hating himself for his selfish thinking. I want her to be happy. It… doesn’t matter how I feel. 

Silence filled the small shack. He was used to silence, and welcomed it. Silence was much better than the sounds of crying, painful screaming, and fists or feet coming in contact with his bruised body. Silence was when he knew he was alone, when he could be safe for a small while. Most of all, it was when he could imagine Malice’s voice in the room with him. 

When he was too overcome with sadness to want to carry forward, he would imagine Malice’s voice pushing him to keep going. It was the only thing keeping his sanity intact. Without the ability to have her in his head he wouldn’t be able to function… he would probably even be dead. 

He imagined Malice’s smile, a smile so beautiful and bright that it could bring anyone comfort. His lips twitched into a small smile for a moment, allowing himself to enjoy the thought of Malice’s comfort. 

The thought of her warm body pulling him into a much-needed hug was something he desperately needed and longed for every day. This moment was no exception. He pretended he was there next to her, allowing Malice to hold him as he allowed another tear to escape and roll down his cheek. 

“I want to see you again, dear brother,” he imagined her to say in a whisper. “You’ve been gone too long… I miss you so much…”

Scorto began to cry a bit harder. “I… I miss you… too…” he choked out in a weak whisper, having not properly talked for months. “I don’t… I… don’t want to die… in… here…”

He imagined her running her fingers through Scorto’s hair, giving him some comfort. “Escape, Scorto. Get out of there. For me.”

Malice then disappeared from Scorto’s imagination, but her words remained swimming in his mind. It was certainly true… the only way Scorto could ever see her again was to do what he figured was impossible: escape. 

Longing to see her again, he stood up, pacing the small jail cell. However, since the cell was so small, he was only able to take two steps before turning around and walking to the other wall. 

His desire to see Malice grew stronger the more he thought of it. It was like a craving for food, the more he thought of it, the stronger he wanted it. 

The only way I can see her again is if I escape, he thought, gaining more strength and confidence. I’ll die in here if I don’t do something… what if she thinks I’m dead? I can’t live my whole life here knowing I’ll never get to see her again!

Although he had failed many times before, his willingness to see Malice was so strong that he gained more confidence than he had in any of the other escape attempts. He hadn’t tried to escape in at least a decade, so there was no way they would expect it, as long as he played his hand right. However, he couldn’t risk anything. He knew he needed to do this as quickly as possible. 

The next time someone comes in here to torture me, I’ll take that as my opportunity.

And with that, he began to conjure up an escape plan.  
~~~

Making a plan without ink and parchment proved to be a difficult thing for Scorto. There were many times where he would come up with a set plan on how to escape, then he would be interrupted by a surface elf barging in to “play” with Scorto, and he forgets whatever he was thinking about. He found it quite frustrating, but he swore to himself to not give up. His drive to see Malice was bigger than any inconvenience that was thrown his way.

He lost a lot of sleep due to the planning. The surface elves allowed him 4 hours a night to rest his body. He used this as his opportunity to plan as much as possible. All he began to think about was his escape, and how badly he needed to get out. Everytime they would come in to hurt him, he would try to focus on the plan to lessen the pain. He stopped eating or sleeping as much to make more time to focus on what he needed to do, and he would begin planning more and more. It helped distract him from the pain… and it gave him hope. 

His plan was full-proof. There was a surface elf that would come in frequently to abuse Scorto. He seemed to have some anger issues, but he was scrawny and dumb. Scorto had not tried to beat him because he was much too weak and simply felt hopeless in the situation, causing him to not try. However, his newfound confidence has made him stronger, faster, and smarter. He knew that the scrawny surface elf would be his best chance to escape. 

The system was pretty straight forward: Someone would be taken to see Scorto, given the keys to unlock the door, and were allowed to do whatever they wanted to him. Scorto would wait for that man to come again, acting like his usual weak self, then strike when he had the chance. They usually grew tired half-way through the beatings; That would be his opening. 

To help him prepare for it, once he got his plan set up, he decided to rest a lot more than usual. Since he was so behind on sleep, he took every possible opportunity to sleep. In between beatings, after his meals, and then at usual sleep time. He was becoming more and more rested, getting stronger and stronger in the process. He also exercised as much as he could, building up his muscles so that he could fight who he needed to.

He was sitting in the corner of his room, waking up from a nap. His eyes blinked a few times, adjusting to the dark room. He hugged his knees to his chest, waiting. It was pointless to sleep, as he no longer felt tired, and he was sure someone was about to come in. After being captured for so long, he began developing odd feelings in his stomach when someone was about to arrive, as if he were memorizing some sort of schedule. 

As if it were on cue, the door opened. Although he knew what was coming, Scorto still flinched when he heard the creak of the door. He hoped that this was the last time he would ever have to feel such pain. He trained his eyes on the bright light emitted, knowing that once he escapes, his eyes must be adjusted to light as possible. He was used to not having any light at all, and he would rather not blind himself once he makes his escape.

The surface elf turned a corner. Scorto’s stomach dropped and his eyes widened. It was time. 

The scrawny elf smiled evilly, ignorantly assuming that Scorto’s widened eyes were of innocent fear. This, however, was not the reality. 

He rubbed his hands. “I hope you’re ready, slave,” said the cocky elf. “This is going to be the most painful beating you’ve ever received!” 

Scorto cringed a bit at his wording, analyzing the scrawny elf. Before, he would have been scared or so tired he wouldn’t have even processed his wording. Now that he has gained rest, confidence and determination, however, he realized how silly it was to be scared of such a man. The elf was small and skinny, as if he had never exercised a day in his life. 

He played along, allowing the surface elf to grab him. He clutched Scorto’s shirt, tugging on it to get Scorto to stand, as he was too weak to pick him up like some of the stronger surface elves could. Scorto stood, pretending to look fearful as he stared warily at the weak elf. This pleased him, as a sickening smile grew on his face. Letting go of Scorto’s shirt, he pushed Scorto to the ground. It wasn’t a very hard push, but Scorto still fell nonetheless to continue the act.

The punches were rough, but certainly not as bad as some of his tougher customers. He winced at some of them but was able to suck it up for the most part.

Eventually, however, the scrawny elf seemed to get tired. Scorto watched him carefully as he kicked Scorto’s stomach repeatedly. He pretended it hurt, but his body had gotten so used to the pain that it was quite tolerant to all of this. 

The elf backed up, walking towards a small puddle of water due to a leak in the roof. He was preparing himself for a more powerful kick. Reeling himself backwards, he forced his body forward quickly. However, this proved to be his downfall, as he foot perfectly slipped on a puddle of water.

“Ah!” the surface elf yelled, slipping and falling over. Scorto’s eyes flickered. He knew this was his chance. 

Scorto jumped up, pinning the surface elf down. The elf looked shocked, trying to fight Scorto’s sudden burst of rebellion. Scorto, however, was much stronger. Anger rushed through his body like a flash of lightning. He felt his blood run cold as he picked the surface elf up by the shoulders, slamming him back onto the ground. Showing no mercy for the pain that he caused him. This is what he deserved.

Scorto jumped up, swinging his body forward and stomping on his enemy’s head. Stomping. Pounding. He thought back to when he was a little boy, never wanting to hurt a soul. He almost laughed at such an ignorant thought. The elf cowering below him deserved pain. He was being relentless, making sure this stranger got every ounce of pain he received over these hundreds of years of torture. Kicking. More stomping. Punching. He slammed the elf against the wall, found a sharp broken pole and started to use that as well, cutting the surface elf’s arms and legs open. Scorto’s fury was unhinged. It was like a lion going after prey after being tempted for so long. Even if it was just on this one man, he wanted to get it all out.

His heart was louder than the elf’s screams. Scorto let out a scream of his own, letting out the anger and frustration he had kept bottled up in him for the past several decades. This was his time to get the revenge he waited so long for, and he wasn’t wasting it for a second. 

Although his slamming and tormenting behavior seemed to go on forever, he knew it was finally over when the elf stopped screaming. 

Scorto gasped, desperately trying to calm down. He stared at the mess he created. Blood was all over the floor, all over his hands… the elf’s skull had been completely bashed in; it was almost as if it was a different person that Scorto had killed, they didn’t look the same at all. 

Shock filled Scorto’s body as he stumbled backwards. What have I done? Staring at the body, he felt as though, for a small moment, he was no longer Scorto. It was as if he had killed a part of himself in that moment… but was that good or bad? He had never acted like that before… what could have possibly gone over him to make him do that? And more importantly, what if it happened again?

It took him a moment to pull himself together. He needed to stay focused on the task at hand if he wanted to see Malice again. With that in mind, he forced himself to search the dead surface elf, trying his best to ignore the blood and gory scene. He gagged at the smell, trying not to look at the awful mess he made. Quickly and thankfully, he found the keys, and also found a sharp arrow head. 

“Small, but it will do,” inquired Scorto, gripping the arrow head in his left hand and the key in his right. He had learned from his mother in training that anything sharp can be a weapon if used properly. He knew that this would be the best time to see if she were right.

He stood up, wiping the blood off of his hands on his torn and uncomfortable pair of pants he was forced to wear. He looked down at his clothes, then over at the surface elf’s. Although thanks to Scorto’s recent exercises, he had managed to build himself a bit more than the elf’s, he knew that they had to be the same clothes size. Figuring it would be better cover if he were to change into a new set of clothes, Scorto made a swift decision to switch clothes with the man.  
“Maybe a fool will think he killed me,” inquired Scorto, a hopeful feeling in his stomach overcoming him. 

His clothes had a bit of blood on them, but he managed to get off what he could with the ragged clothes he put on the surface elf. He also figured that he could wash them if he really needed to in a pond or a lake nearby. 

Finally, he was ready to exit the shack. With another shaky breath, he walked towards the door, getting ready to exit.

This is it, he thought, feeling his hands shake a bit. There was no backing out now. If he were to stay in the cell and waited for someone to come get him, he would surely be killed. It’s truly now or never. 

He used the light to see the door as he shakily inserted the key in the keyhole. He turned it cautiously and took a deep breath, getting his small weapon ready for any combat there may be. He felt that the moment was surreal; he never expected to be getting out of there alive. “I just need to make it underground and then I’ll be fine,” he whispered shakily. 

Finally, the moment he had been planning for centuries had finally come. He opened the door. 

He wasn’t sure what he was to expect, but it certainly wasn’t what was in front of him. It was completely deserted; there was not an elf to be seen for miles. 

Warily, Scorto stepped forward. It was night time, which was lucky for him, as he knew the light of the sun would be too much for his eyes to handle. He was able to adapt to his surroundings and sneak in the shadows. How fortunate, he thought, the corners of his lips slowly twitching into a smile. His confidence, which was already high to begin with, had now greatly increased. It seems Lolth wants me to escape, too! 

Although he was confident, he was careful not to do anything ignorant. He stepped carefully into the deep forest behind him, hiding in dark areas as much as he possibly could. Every sound made him paranoid, even the sound of the rustling winds and twitching sticks caused him to jump. Why am I so jumpy? he wondered. When I was younger, it was never like this. Sometimes He would get so paranoid that someone was behind him that he’d climb a tree and hide for several minutes or duck behind a bush. 

Walking also proved to be a big struggle for Scorto. He was not used to getting much walking exercise, as his cell was barely even capable of allowing him the ability to sit. He wobbled on his feet for a long while before getting the strength to walk much. He wasn’t very fast at first, either. It didn’t take long before his calves started to burn, not used to the amount of energy being exerted. However, he forced himself to continue pushing so that he could make it to an underground entrance. He also tried forcing himself to run, but he stumbled and fell over a lot, which made a lot of noise, so he refrained from practicing his running too often. 

Scorto was absolutely lost. When the surface elves took him, he wasn’t sure where they were taking him, as they removed him of the privilege of sight by blindfolding him. He wasn’t sure how he would make it back to his home, as even when he makes it underground, he’d still have to worry about finding his way back to where Malice lived. 

He hoped to find an entrance before the sun rose. He knew that night would be his only friend, but once night left him, he would be alone and vulnerable again. A sigh escaped his mouth as he shivered. It was cold and Scorto had no means of warmth. Starting a fire would be too risky, and his clothes were still covered in blood, making it colder than it should have been. 

Focusing on every step, Scorto listened intently for any noise that may cause danger. He also remained careful to stick to the thick woods, as he knew that any risk of being spotted would send him back to that life of endangerment, or an even worse fate.. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He had to see Malice once again. 

His walk continued for hours. He searched desperately, but he could not find a single hint of a secret entrance. Could they have changed it? he considered, fearing the worst. Usually, an entrance to the underground was marked by a large rock with vines laced around it. Although this seemed quite normal to those who passed it, only a Drow could recognize the type of vine used to lace around the rock; as it was a special kind of vine only grown in the underground. Some Drow are smart enough to set up small areas around the rock to make it seem like the vines were growing by themselves in the area, making it even less likely that any surface elf would be able to tell the difference. Scorto always admired the cleverness of the Drow, and he hoped that this cleverness was still around. 

The sun was beginning to rise. Every time he noticed the sky gets a bit brighter, he began to panic more and more. His breathing got heavier and his mind rushed with thoughts that were nothing but negative. Everything around him slowly became his enemy. As long as it made noise or he saw it at the corner of his eye, he was prepared to fight. 

Once the sun was finally completely up, Scorto’s mind became fuzz. He couldn’t focus on anything but escaping. I can’t go back, he thought. His body began to shake so much that he could barely walk. I can’t go through the pain anymore…

And then came his worst nightmare: the thickness of the forest had ended, and the only thing left for miles was an open field. 

Scorto’s heart sank. He stared at the open field, desperately trying to find another alternative. He wanted to cry, he wanted to lay down and scream… most of all, he wanted Malice to hug him and tell him that he was going to be safe. 

He focused on that false memory. He always thought about it when in solitary. When he couldn’t sleep or wished for death, he would imagine Malice in the room with him, pulling him close, rubbing his back gently as she whispered sweet nothings to him. Even though it wasn’t real, it brought him comfort in the dark times. 

The daydream gave him strength. He closed his eyes, resting his back against a tree, allowing himself a moment to believe Malice was there. “Get up and find me!” he imagined her saying. “Don’t give up now. Our game of hide and seek isn’t over quite yet! Don’t tell me you’re a quitter!” 

Scorto smiled, opening his eyes. He pretended he saw Malice smiling back at him, running across the field. He ignored the burning feeling in his legs, as they were not meant for this type of extortion just yet. Instead, he focused on her with wonder, admiring her pearl white hair and obsidian skin as she elegantly pranced across the field quickly, reaching her destination. What she had found made him jump up in an instant. 

“An entrance!” he yelled a bit too loudly for his liking. However, he was too excited that he didn’t really care about the consequences. He began to run faster, not worrying about any threats. There didn’t seem to be anyone else in the area, so Scorto figured it was safe. 

He sprinted towards the rock, getting more and more excited with every step. It was quite a distance, he knew it would take him several minutes to reach it, but he didn’t care. It was like the final stretch of a race. He didn’t know how close second place was, he just wanted to reach the finish line.

“There he is!”

The words were so distant that he barely even recognized that they were real. When he processed them, however, his heart sank once more. 

As if time slowed to a pause, Scorto turned around to see five surface elves at the edge of the forest, running after him. He panicked, bolting towards the rock. 

His legs hated him for the amount of running he had done in such a short amount of time. His body was tired, and it wanted nothing but to rest. Scorto tried to clear that from his mind. He knew that if he were to get to the entrance, everything would be okay. It had to be okay. 

The surface elves were gaining on him. Because of the weakness in his legs, the surface elves were stronger and faster. Scorto stumbled on his feet a lot, but was lucky to recover before falling. However, he knew he wasn’t going to be able to keep it up forever. 

The rock was getting closer. A few more steps and he would reach it. However, he knew that any bad movement would play himself right into the hands of his captors. He was lucky to get a head start, but the surface elves had already almost closed the gap. They were so close, in fact, that he could hear their breathing as if they were right next to him. 

Scorto’s feet were getting confused, as if he were a baby trying to reach his mother for the first time on his own. He felt as if he were losing control, desperately trying not to fall. 

The surface elves were practically on top of him as he reached the rock. He let out an instinctive scream, attempting to jump into the magic seal when one of the surface elves grabbed his arm. 

“Trying to hide behind a rock?” asked the strongest of the elves. “How stupid can you be?” He snickered to his friends, who surrounded Scorto in a manner that made him almost faint to the ground in fear. I was… so close… he thought, limply trying to escape the grasp of the elf. 

They laughed at him. “So weak. If your family even remembers you, they’d be real disappointed in who you’ve become.”

The insult stabbed him in the heart like a knife. He balled his hand into a fist, forcing himself not to cry. 

The insults continued, “I wonder what kind of family he had. A brother who was stronger than him? A mother who hated him? Perhaps a sister who never loved you in the first place?”

Anger began rushing through him, making the surface elf laugh. “Oh, it seems I struck a nerve, hmm?” he asked with an evil laugh. “You still think of your sister? Hah, I doubt she’d ever think of anyone as cowardly as you.”

Scorto hadn’t even realized what he was doing before it was over. He attacked the surface elf, kicking him in a sensitive area and jumping away from the other elves. He ran a bit away from the rock to force them to chase him, and found an opening in between them to quickly run through to get to the other side. They tried to stop him as he jumped through the seal; Scorto felt a hand brush his back before he successfully stumbled into the underground. 

A groan escaped Scorto’s lips, black surrounding his vision as he struggled to look at where he was. His head was throbbing intensely; he tried to sit up, but the pain was too extreme for him to bare, as he immediately fell back to the ground immediately.

His head felt cold, as if someone had torn apart his skull and were desperate to tear his brain apart too. He felt something cold and hard from under him; when he fell into the seal, his head slammed into a rock. 

He tried to get up, but he felt like he had fallen off of a cliff.. The adrenaline to escape had completely run out, and he was left with nothing. No energy, no strength… he was completely empty.

The blackness began to dominate his vision. The world around him slowly faded away. The last thing he saw was a silhouette of a person standing over him, attempting to pick him up.


End file.
